Safe & Sound
by suspendersandblaine
Summary: 74th Hunger Games, the year District 12 not only had a volunteer, but also two male tributes. Blaine Anderson just wanted to protect his family. Kurt Hummel was just a victim of a cruel joke. Hunger Klaine AU


_A Hunger Game AU. This one follows loosely around the plot line of the first Hunger Games novel. Where Blaine is kinda-sorta like Katniss and Kurt is kinda-sorta like Peeta and Sebastian is kinda-sorta like Gale. But like I said, this just very __**loosely **__follows it. So a lot of stuff is different. _

_**Warning**__: This story is written in first person. I know some people don't like first person, so I'm warning you up front. _

_Also, in this story Cooper is only a year older than Blaine._

/

The porridge this morning is so watered down I wonder if my mother even remembered to add the porridge to the water. I eye our cat, Pavarotti, who sits in the window seal over the sink. Sneaking her porridge would be considered wasting food, which is practically against the law, but with the way my stomach is churning I know I won't be able to keep the mush down.

I take a chance look at my father from across the table. He's eating his porridge carefully, pensively reading over a flyer or some kind of article in his hand. My mother is hovering closely over her bowl, humming to herself as she eats; a nervous habit she does. I'm waiting for my dad's usual—

"Mary, _must _you hum at the table?" Dad snaps.

Mom stops abruptly. She laughs nervously and sits up straight. "Was I humming? Oops, sorry."

My father only grumbles something under his breath. I manage to withhold my scowl. Instead I turn to my mother. "It's not a big deal mom. It was pretty."

Mom smiles. "Thank you, honey."

My mother, unlike anyone else in our family, has wild, blonde hair and blue eyes. She's a merchant through and through. Our father, who my brother and I have inherited our dark hair and eyes from, was a born and raised Seam kid. He moved into the Merchant section when he married my mother.

Cooper, my older brother by a year, sits to the right of me. He is his father's son; tall, devilishly good looking, with thick, tame hair. I inherited the crazy curls that sprout out of the top of my head like wild fire from my mother, as well as her small stature. To say I'm envious of my brother is a bit of an understatement.

Cooper clears his throat next to me. "I just remembered mom, I'm going to Kate's this morning, so if you don't see me before the reaping, that's where I'm at."

Kate is Cooper's girlfriend; his pregnant girlfriend. They are the perfect pair. They're both beautiful, and eccentric, and somehow don't fit in out here in a dirty district.

"But… it's reaping day… we ought to all be together—"

"_Mom_," Cooper groans, rolling his eyes. "It's my last reaping. What's the odds, anyway? Try relaxing a bit, huh?"

Cooper has never taken reaping seriously. There's a hundred of us kids in the pile, some even with their names in there a hundred times; what's the odds, he says. I've never been one to trust "odds".

Mom smiles sadly but looks down to her hands folded on the table. "Well, give her my greetings." Cooper returns her smile and continues eating peacefully.

"I'm gonna go," I say, scooting my chair back and standing up.

My mother looks startled. "You've barely touched breakfast," she says.

"I'm not hungry," I reply. It's a stupid excuse. Out here in District 12 we're always hungry.

"But—"

"Let him go," my father interrupts.

This shuts my mom up. She sits back in her seat and stares down at her plate solemnly. "I'll be back before reaping," I tell her. I give her a quick kiss on the forehead before I leave to dress in my hunting gear. I ignore my dad's wary stares as I pass by the breakfast table one last time on my way out.

Down the tight stairwell and out my mother's seamstress workshop, the streets of the merchant area are empty; save for a little old woman two buildings away sweeping at the cobble stone around her shop. She is where she is every morning. Always sweeping, and never succeeding. The dust is endless around here. I take a detour around the back of the shop to where my makeshift punching bag hangs.

Right behind my mother's shop there is a small covered area where she leaves certain supplies to be shielded from the weather. There I have a bag of flower hanging from a rope tide to the ceiling. I can tell by the way the ceiling sinks in that the wood is beginning to rot. I take a couple jabs at the bag, bouncing on my toes and making sure to get as loose as possible. I start up into a steady rhythm.

A few years back, I got a lot of shit. Kids didn't like who I was, didn't like who I hung out with, and especially didn't like my sexuality. Being gay, at least in this district, is not wildly accepted. No, being gay is a Capitol trait, and if the Capitol likes something, it must be wrong. So this led to me being picked on and teased constantly. Then, when I was fourteen years old, I got the living shit beat out of me.

So I took up boxing, because I was sick of being weak and little. It started out just punching around at things, getting out my anger; but then it turned into a habit, a second nature. It only took knocking out one of my main offenders once to get my bullies off my back. That didn't stop me from continuing my boxing. No, I need this; I can feel it in the way I move; in the way my calloused, rough hands connect with the flower sack. I _need_ this.

Down the street I hear the sound of a door opening. I stop punching and hold on to the flower bag to keep it from swinging. I just barely catch the sight of brown hair slipping into the back of the bakery only three shops down.

I stand and watch the backdoor swing in and out for a few more seconds before shaking my head and pushing away. It was about time I headed out anyway.

I hustle down to the Seam where a group of minors march passed me on their way to the mine. I step off the trail and politely smile as they go by. Some smile back, others look like they don't see much of anything anymore.

District 12 is gated in by an electric fence. They say the fence is there to keep predators out. I think they just want to keep us fenced in. I slip under the chain links with ease. As I assumed, it isn't turned on. You can always tell when it's turned on by a low buzzing that fills the air if you just listen closely enough.

I jog the rest of the way through the forest. The greenery is thick and wild, full of colors and life. It's one of the few beautiful things I've seen in my lifetime; Plants and animals coinciding in peace, everything moving and surviving in a natural motion. I reach a small clearing and slow down to a halt. My eyes slip shut and my nose sucks in the smell of crisp air. I smile, truly, for the first time this morning.

"Took you long enough," A voice interrupts.

I let my eyes lazily open back up. I roll them at Sebastian. He's standing ahead of me, pushing his way out of the brush, holding out my bow and my pack of arrows. His are already slung around one of his shoulders.

"I was maybe five minutes late Bas." I say, snatching the equipment from his hands.

Sebastian shrugs. "Late is still late."

"Whatever." I string my bow and pull an arrow out of my pack. In that time, Sebastian has slung one of his long, skinny arms over my shoulder and is pulling me deeper into the forest.

Sebastian and I met when I was ten. Of course I had seen him around before that; in school mostly, though a couple of times when he was banging around garbage cans behind shops. There wasn't really much to our actual first meeting. He told me he wanted a Merchant friend and I told him I wasn't interested. Even back then Sebastian was bad news. After my rejection, Sebastian was just always around. Following me, if you will. It quickly became a habit to find him waiting after school for me or dragging me away from my friends to go skip rocks. It wasn't until we were twelve that he introduced me to the forest. It was then, in the forest, that I finally considered him a friend.

"_Come on, it's amazing, I swear Blaine."_

"_It's against the law, Sebastian. I don't know about you, but I don't have a death wish."_

"_I've been doing this since I was eight; I promise you nothing will happen. You have my word."_

"_Your word has never been something I ever held dearly."_

"_You slay me, Anderson. Slay me." _

"_Wait, this is electric, Sebastian what are you doing?"_

"_Calm down, they never turn this fence on. Now come on, slip under."_

"_I don't have a good feeling about this…" _

"_Which is all the fun." _

"_Sebastian I swear…"_

"_I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Now, just follow me." _

"_Where are we going?"_

"_There's a pond just a bit ahead. We can swim." _

"_We can swim at the creak."_

"_Look, we're already here. It's no big deal."_

"_It's really… pretty."_

"_See, aren't you happy you took my word?" _

"_I'm still not taking your word for anything." _

"_Fine, babe. Fine. But at least admit it's pretty awesome."_

"_Well, yeah it's—Wait! Did you hear that?"_

"_It was just an animal. Probably a deer." _

"_No, no, I bet it's a Peacekeeper. Seb, it's a Peacekeeper! Oh my god, they know!"_

"_As much as I love you clinging to me, you're cutting off my circulation."_

"_Oh god, they know. That's them. Sebastian, you planned this, didn't you? People always said never trust a Smythe. You're trying to screw me over, aren't you?"_

"_Of course I'm trying to screw you over. A chair or a desk maybe."_

"_Ew, god Sebastian, be serious for once! We need to—"_

"_See, told you it was a deer."_

"_... It's beautiful." _

"_They sell good too."_

"_I've never seen one so up close before. Isn't it scared?"_

"_We're not close enough to scare it."_

"_Huh…"_

"_Admit it."_

"_What?"_

"_This is awesome." _

"…_Okay, it's awesome. _

"Hey," Sebastian interrupts my memories. We walk out of the thick forest into another clearing; this time atop a hill that has a view for miles. "I got us something." He slips his beat up pack off his shoulder and shifts through it. After a couple seconds he pulls out a loaf of bread.

My eyes go wide and I snatch at it. He quickly holds it out of my reach, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Is that real?" I ask, eyeing the food.

He nods. "Yup, my mom bought a whole three loafs. Since it's my brother's first year and all. Somehow it's supposed to make things better." His face slips into that far off look he sometimes gets when he talks about things like his family and the reaping.

I slowly reach across him and take the bread. I plop down on the floor cross legged. I pull off a gracious chunk and shove it all in my mouth. My eyes immediately fall shut as the sweet taste explodes in my mouth. I make an involuntary groan of pleasure.

"'s good shit, huh?" Sebastian says. He falls down next to me and takes his own piece from the loaf.

"Mmm," I murmur, eyes still shut.

We sit in a mutual silence for a few more minutes as we devour the rest of the loaf. Once all is left is a few crumbs on my shirt, we stare out into the distant trees. It's funny to think about our past and my initial dislike towards him. Now he's my only friend.

"You ever…" Sebastian starts, randomly. I glance over to see him frowning.

"What?"

"You ever think about running? Packing all our bags and just leaving, you and me?"

I laugh at this. "Yeah, and go where?"

He shrugs. "That way." He points ahead of us, to the green hills that stretch out until you can't see anything but a hazy line meeting the sky.

"We'd never make it," I say.

He shrugs. He pulls out a handful of grass in his fist. "I think we would."

"Yeah, and what about our families, 'bastian? You have your brothers, and your mom. I have my family."

"We take them with us."

This makes me laugh. "Coop, in the wild?"

Sebastian chuckles too. "Yeah, I guess you're right…"

"I always am," I murmur. I lie down on the grass.

"One more year after this," I hear Sebastian say. "One more year and we never have to stress over this again."

Another silence falls between us. The sound of Mockingjays play in the air.

"Come on," Sebastian finally says. "the fish won't catch themselves."

/

By the time I reach home it's just an hour before the reaping. Sebastian took our catches and small kills down to the Hob to trade, but insisted I go back to get ready. My mother already stresses enough whenever I go out.

My Mom's in the shop sewing. She greets me with a smile but doesn't say anything. Upstairs my dad is helping Cooper with his tie. Apparently Cooper realized he had to come back to the house to get ready.

"You better hurry," my father says.

In the room Cooper and I share, my mother has laid my reaping clothes out on my bed. Black slacks and a white button up shirt. I pull them on mechanically. Then I take the tie my father gave me as a present on my first reaping and pull it around my neck. Unlike Cooper, I paid attention when our dad showed me how to tie it.

Back in the kitchen my mom is fussing over Cooper's hair. When she sees me she immediately latches on to my head of curls.

"Everyone ready to go," my dad asks.

We silently leave the house.

/

Bright banners and cameras litter the town square. All the children from 12 to 18 are ushered like a school of fish into the middle. On top of the stage are two glass bowls. One for boys. One for girls. My name is in there twenty times this year.

Somewhere along the pushing and shoving I lose track of Cooper. Instead I wind up standing next to a blonde haired boy with big lips. I can't quite put my finger on his name.

Mayor Figgins stands on the stage next to the gingered haired escort from the capitol, Emma Pillsbury. As soon as the clock strikes twelve and chimes, as done every year, the Mayor proceeds to tell the history of Panem and the reaping. I find Sebastian's eyes from a few rows ahead. He makes a gagging gesture. I find myself smirking.

After the Mayor's long and unnecessary history lesson, he removes himself from stage and lets Emma Pillsbury take over.

She greets us with the never half-hearted, always annoying motto of the reaping. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." She says a few more sweet things into the mic, but I don't care to focus. It isn't till I finally find my brother's head among the crowd that I focus back in on what's being said.

"And, as usual, ladies first," Emma is saying. She waddles over to the bowl of female names. Her heels are high and her bright pencil skirt is tight. She twirls her hand daintily above the bowl before she dips it in with grace. She plucks out a slip of paper and waddles back to the mic stand.

"Now," she says. "The lucky lady is…" She carefully unfolds the paper. And just as she opens her mouth to announce the name, just as every girl in the courtyards eyes squeeze shut, Emma's expression falls. She stares at the piece of paper until a Peacekeeper at the end of the stage clears his throat. Emma quickly shakes her head and looks out at the crowd. "Um… Kurt Hummel?"

A murmur quickly erupts.

Kurt Hummel is not a girl. No matter how many boys insist on calling him that, he's still _not _a girl. I unconsciously search the crowd for the sight of his pale skin. The regular at my mom's shop; the baker's son; the boy with the eyes that can never choose a color.

I immediately remember a shock of blue—green—gray as gentle hands dab at my bloodied lip. I remember the soft smile and the rosy cheeks as a small loaf of bread is shoved into my palms.

"Well… Kurt Hummel, come up here." Emma's voice echoes across the courtyard.

There is a moment of complete silence that passes over the court yard. I can hear the distant sound of Mockingjays. Then, as silent and graceful as ever, Kurt Hummel emerges from the crowd. He walks stiffly, but there is still a determined little strut in his step. I watch as he pushes a loose strand of hair back into place atop his immaculate head. Kurt, like every reaping day, has dressed far better than any of us other boys; button up shirt tailored to his slender waist, dark pants fitted to outline his every curve.

"Wait! Wait!" A tall, awkward boy named Finn is pushing into the walk way. I remember that Finn and Kurt's parents, both widowed, had recently married. Kurt swivels around on his heels to stare wide eyed at him, along with the rest of the crowd. Finn looks taken aback by the attention, but he sticks out his chest determinedly. "That doesn't count! Kurt isn't a girl!"

Two Peacekeepers take a hold of Kurt's arms as two more Peacekeepers approach Finn. He noticeably backs away.

Emma clears her throat and smiles. "I'm sorry, but I can't imagine that the Capitol has made a mistake. If the boy's name is in the bowl, well then, the Capitol must have their reasons for putting it there. So, until we hear otherwise, Kurt Hummel is this year's District 12 female tribute."

The Peacekeepers latched onto Kurt's arms start walking, taking a pliant and emotionless Kurt with them. Finn stays back, gaping. The Peacekeepers stop at the end of the stage steps and lightly push Kurt in that direction. Kurt walks up the steps with his head held high and his posture straight. I vaguely hear Emma congratulating Kurt, but a conversation being whispered in front of me grabs my full attention.

"Holy shit guys, look what you did," says one boy with a bad haircut.

"Shut the fuck up, how was I supposed to know he'd get picked?" hisses the boy next to him; a dark skinned boy named Azimio. "It was just a joke. We only put his name in once…"

"I told you it was a stupid plan. I told you," says the boy on the other side of Azimio. "It was too risky. We're gonna get caught now. This was a stupid joke, Az. Really fucking stupid."

"You didn't seem to have any problem with it before," snaps Azimio.

"You said it was no big deal! You said we wouldn't get caught! No one was supposed to know but us! They're gonna cut out our tongues now, Az! They're gon—"

Azimio shushes him with a hand over his mouth. "Shut up. You want everyone to hear? Just be cool. Act like nothin's wrong. You heard the crazy lady; they think it was some Capitol ploy."

"Yeah, until the Capitol calls to figure out what the fuck just happened…"

"Just shut up, okay?"

The boys stop talking. I can still see the one kid shaking.

I'm furious. A joke. A stupid joke. He's going to die now because of some _stupid _joke played by some _stupid_ assholes. I tighten my fists against my side.

"Now for the gentlemen." Emma says this as if she doesn't realize the catastrophe that just happened; as if she can't hear the struggles and the cries from an older man being dragged away by Peacekeepers, howling something that sounds suspiciously like, "That's my boy!"

I feel an ache in the pit of my stomach; for Kurt, for every tribute, past and present, for whoever is being called next. I feel a shift in the air. I find Sebastian again in the crowd. His face is scrunched up in a mixture of fury and confusion. He's staring down to the floor, hands clenched at his side. I vaguely wonder if he feels it too.

"Now," Emma continues. "This year's District Twelve male tribute is," she unfolds the piece of paper she just picked from the bowl like last time; gentle and cautious. She looks much more pleased with this slips outcome than the lasts.

"Cooper Anderson," she reads.

The earlier shift in the air stops completely and suddenly there is no more oxygen to breathe.

It's like taking a hard blow to the stomach. I gasp and slump over. A tight hand on my shoulder holds me back from falling to my knees. I look over to see the blonde boy with the big lips. Sam, I suddenly remember. He looks apologetic.

I hear a sharp sob that is all too familiar. I find myself watching my mother a few yards away burying her face in my father's neck.

Then there's my brother, moving shock white and stiff down the aisle. Just passed him, standing off to the side, is Kate. Her eyes are shut and one hand is placed over her slightly rounded belly. They're supposed to get married in three months. Kate's been pregnant for two. They were going to start a family. This was their last year. This was it.

And now it's not.

I watch as the Peacekeepers walk solidly by my brother's side, as if he'd make a break for it or something. Cooper would never do that; he'd never even think of that. He isn't a fighter, not unless it's staged. Never has been. When I was nine and he was ten he got his ball stuck in the old oak tree by the creek. I had to get it down for him because every time he tried he'd fall back on his ass. When I was twelve and he was thirteen, he would get picked on for having the "fag" for a brother. Once I learned boxing I never let them mess with him again.

And now, as he's escorted to the stairs that lead him to his imminent doom, I decide to take those steps for him.

I find myself pulling away from Sam's grip on my shoulder. "Wait," I try saying, but it comes out as a whisper. I purposely shove passed Azimio. "Wait," I say louder. I can feel my voice slowly building up in my throat. As I push my way out of the crowd and stumble into the opening, my shout is full blown. "_Wait!_"

The Peacekeepers turn. Cooper turns. Everyone turns.

Normally, my heart would stop from the sudden attention, but my heart already stopped when Cooper's name was called. And frankly, I don't have the time for stage fright right now.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Eyes go wide; collected gasps sound.

"Well, well, well, a volunteer!" Emma cheers. Her hands clasp together in delight.

District 12 didn't have volunteers. District 12 had sacrifices and easy kills. No, the volunteers were meant for the richer districts. It was meant for the Careers; meant for the boys and girls who lived their whole lives for that one moment to kill.

The Peacekeepers release my brother and begin approaching me. Cooper immediately lunges forward as they grasp both my arms. "No!" he shouts. Two different Peacekeepers come out of the crowd and latch on to him. He kicks and tugs as he's dragged away, all the time shouting my name.

I'm escorted to the stage. My body moves on its own as I climb the steps.

"What's your name, boy?" Emma asks me. Her big, colorful eyes blink at me hopefully.

"Blaine," I croak out. I quickly clear my throat and repeat, "Blaine Anderson."

"Blaine Anderson!" Emma cheers into the mike. "I'm assuming that was your brother you just volunteered for."

"Yes," I breathe.

"Isn't that something," Emma says. "How about a round of applause for Blaine Anderson!"

The only clapping heard comes from Emma herself. And then, something unexpected happens. One by one, hands touch their lips and rise into the air; the districts three finger salute. It's not used often, but when it is, it's used for three things; thanks, admiration, and goodbye to someone you love.

Pressure builds behind my eyes but I refuse it. Of all the years I've waited to be appreciated by these people who have done nothing but look down on me, they choose now. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope nobody notices.

"Well," Emma places a hand on my shoulder and softly directs me to stand right before Kurt. _Kurt Hummel._

Emma looks between Kurt and I and smiles. "Shake hands."

I look at Kurt, right into the clear blue-green-gray orbs that have never actually seemed real. Kurt, I think as I reach out my hand, the boy I've never so much as spoke a word to beyond "hello"; the boy with the beautiful voice and the gentle face; the boy who never let anyone change him; the boy with so much courage.

The boy who's now my enemy.

His hands are soft as they meet between us. I can't help remembering that this is the second time our hands have touched. He pulls his away first, swiftly looking out into the crowd, avoiding my eyes.

The mayor begins reading the boring, long Treaty of Treason. I try to find my family's faces as he speaks, but they are nowhere to be scene among the ashen faces. When he finishes, the Anthem of Panem starts up and Kurt and I are escorted from the stage.

/

"What were you _thinking_!" Cooper says, storming into my waiting room.

Kurt and I are separated into our own rooms when we are taken into the Justice building. It's a fancy room, covered in plush carpets, velvet chairs, and the thick sent of roses. It's like no room I've ever seen before; not unless it's advertising the Capitol.

"'Hey Blaine, thanks for saving my life'," I grumble quietly.

"_Thank you?_ You want a _thank you_?" he bellows.

"Cooper, sweetie…" mom is whispering. I can see the tear tracks marking her cheeks.

"Why would you do that, Blaine? Why would you…" His face drops from seething to pained in an instant; something I've never seen him able to accomplish when practicing emotions in the mirror. But I guess this isn't practice now. He squeezes his eyes shut.

"You have a baby, Coop," I say, quietly. "You have Kate, and a future, and how could I let you lose that? It's all you talk about."

"But, Blaine, you—"

"Have nothing," I finish. There is no hesitation. "I have nothing to look forward to; I have nothing I really want in life. Sure, I don't want to die. But you deserve this more than me."

Cooper is shaking his head. "That isn't true."

"Coop…" I murmur.

He pulls me into a bone crushing hug. "You're my little brother. I'm—I'm supposed to…" His voice cracks. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze back.

"It's okay," I say. "It's okay. Kate needs you. The baby needs you. Nobody needs me, Coop."

"I need you," Cooper says with a sob. I can hear my mom's silent crying from across the room.

"It's not the same thing," I say.

Cooper pulls back. His tears are smudged across his cheeks. "Promise me one thing, Blaine. You'll at least try to win. For me."

I swallow thickly. I can feel the tears in the back of my eyes, but I hold them down with all I have. I can't cry, not now.

"I promise. I'll try. I really will."

Cooper nods silently and steps to the side so mom can glomp me. My mother is one of the few people smaller than me; this gives me a perfect view of my father standing a few steps away over her shoulder. He keeps his face hard and his posture straight, but he gives me a soft hug and a pat on the back as my mother steps away. My dad isn't an emotional man, so this is new.

Then the Peacekeepers storm in and before I can blink, or get in one more kiss, my family is escorted out of the room. I hear one more "I love you" from my mom before the door is shut.

I stand in my own silence, in my own cell, feeling more alone than I ever have. I contemplate sitting down in one of the velvet chairs, but somehow that feels like submitting.

There is a soft knock at the door. I hesitate. Do Peacekeepers knock?

"Come in?" I say.

The door creaks open. To my surprise, it's Burt Hummel, Kurt's father. Two Peacekeepers stand behind him.

"Thank you boys," Burt says. He steps into the room. "But I got it from here." He then shuts the door behind him.

I stay stalk still.

"Blaine," Burt says. His eyes are puffy.

"Mr. Hummel," I greet back. My voice sounds as dry as I feel.

"Call me Burt, son."

"Uh, Burt."

Burt fidgets with the cap that's always secured over his balding head. "I just, I don't know, I wanted to wish you the best of luck," he says.

"May the odds be ever in my favor," I just barely whisper.

Burt gives me a sad smile. He steps closer until he can place a hand on my shoulder. "I never really knew you kid, but my— Elizabeth used to be pretty close to your mother. She always seemed like a nice lady."

"She is," I say.

Burt stares at me hard and earnestly. "What you did out there, I want you to know that I think it's one of the bravest things I've ever seen."

_Brave_. Out of all the things I feel right now, brave isn't one of them.

Burt continues. "And I am so _sorry_," his voice cracks for just a second and he stops to swallow. "That this has to happen to you; to anyone really."

Then he reaches up discreetly and wipes one eye.

And then I realize that this is Burt Hummel. _The_ Burt Hummel. The man whose wife was well known around the district for being the sweetest, most-pure hearted women anyone had met. The man whose amazing wife died due to a tragic illness that shook the district eight years ago. The man, who until recently, only had room in his heart to love one person; his son.

And now, on this day, Burt Hummel is the man losing his son to the Hunger Games.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you, too," I whisper.

Burt breathes in shakily and drops his hand. "Well," he says, clearing his throat. "I oughta be heading out. They keep a strict time limit, y'know. Anyway… bye kid." He backs away to the door.

"Sir—Burt," I say, stopping him. "I… I'll help Kurt, as much as I can."

I say it before I can remind myself that the chances of me being able to help him are slim to none. At this point, we're both just pigs being sent to the slaughter.

A sad smile spreads on Burt's face. I think he knows this too. He looks down to where his hand rests on the fancy door handle. "Thanks kid."

And then Burt Hummel leaves my room without another word.

I walk a circle around the small space. And then I walk another. And another. And it isn't until my sixth circle around that I stop mid pace, hearing something; the sound of distant voices, thick with Capitol accent.

I step closer to hear better, curiosity and boredom getting the best of me.

"Well, what do you suggest we do? We can't call it off now. We can't just walk out there and be like, 'Never mind. Someone pulled a little trick on us. Redo!' We'll look like fools!" A voice is saying.

"Like we don't already," says another.

"Not unless we make it look like we did it on purpose."

There's a break. "How do we do that?"

"Advertise it. Act like we did it to shake up the games a bit. '74th Hunger Games, the year District 12 had two male tributes.'"

"Think people will buy it?"

"People are simple minded creatures. Throw them a bone, they catch it."

"Than what do we do now?"

"Call the Game Makers, tell them to start the advertising. Then," The sound of feet slapping the floor as they walk away echoes. "Get rid of the pranksters."

Get rid of…?

I don't have time to dwell, however, because my cell doors are bursting open again. Sebastian's arms are immediately around me, blocking my vision of anything else but his chest.

"I'm okay," I say. "I'm fine."

"I know," Sebastian whispers into the top of my head. "I know you are."

Sebastian places his hands on my shoulder as he pulls away from the hug. "You'll be fine, Blaine. You're stronger than the others. You box. And you hunt," he says.

"Yeah, animals…" I murmur.

Sebastian stares at me, dead in the eye. "There's no difference."

I want to ask him how he can say something like that with a straight face; because they're just kids, like us. And they have weapons, and they think; and I'm just not that _strong_.

"There are twenty four of us, Bas," I whisper.

His calm façade seems to flicker for a moment, but just as quickly he covers it up with one of his cheeky grins. "Yeah, and in the end it'll just be you."

I want to tell him that I don't think that's possible. I want to tell him that I can't just _kill_ somebody; a _kid_. I want to tell him I'm not strong enough. I want to tell him I'm not _like_ him.

But I don't, because the next thing I know the doors are being slammed open and Sebastian is being pulled out. The last thing he says to me is, "See you soon" before the doors are shut behind him and I'm left alone.

I want to tell him that I won't see him soon. I want to tell him goodbye.

/

**A/N**

Maaaan I write so damn slow! Well, hope you enjoy it so far. Reviews would be lovely :)

Also, my updating schedule is going to be totes slow because I'm trying to graduate as well as find a job. So yeah. Tell me what you think.


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